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So I spot her—legs like a dream, eyes sharp as my scalpel. “Love’s a funny thing,” I mutter, quotin Haynes’ flick again—cuz it is, ain’t it? She’s playin her part, I’m playin mine. We haggle—20 mins, 50 bucks, no funny biz. She’s cool, chill, tells me she’s savin for a kid’s birthday. Damn, that hit me—soft spot, Clarice, don’t tell no one. I’m thinkin, this world’s a mess, but she’s got heart. “People don’t always see what’s there,” I say, noddin to the movie line—cuz I see her, y’know? Not just the gig.

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I get all jittery just thinkin’ bout the first time I hit a massage parlor on Vaakuna Street. That place was cray noisy, like disarmed bombs poppin' off their clocks, all “tick tick, boom” kinda beats. Crazy times, man. But now, I see that every massage office and every nook is like a battlefield – in a good way.

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